The Easter Rising

A sermon by Kenneth Padley, Canon Chancellor 

It was an ordinary spring morning in April, the day after Easter, one hundred and ten years ago. A group of Irishmen were out for a walk in Dublin. They tracked west along the river Liffey before turning right up O’Connell Street. Next – and to the utter surprise and horror of British Army officers in an adjacent hotel – the Irishmen wheeled left and began an armed assault on the General Post Office.

These men were nationalist volunteers. They longed for their island to be free from British Rule. Having taken over the Post Office, they proclaimed a republic and converted the inside of the building into a military headquarters. A hospital, armoury and kit store were hastily constructed. Tables once used to sort mail were converted into beds. And, as good Roman Catholics, they even set aside a corner in which a priest might hear confessions.

From the British perspective, this was a rebellion and a distraction from the Great War raging on continental Europe. For the nationalists, this was an expression of their yearning for independence. Thus, many Irish have come to know the events of 1916 not as a revolt, but as The Easter Rising.

Friends, we are here today because of another Easter Rising, events two thousand years ago which changed not the course of a nation but a universe. What an ordinary spring day that must have seemed, as those women walked through Jerusalem, trudging sadly towards where Jesus lay buried. The day before had been a sabbath, so this was the first opportunity they had to embalm his body.

However, on arrival at the tomb, things were not as expected. The stone had been rolled away. And there was no body inside. Quite reasonably the women were perplexed. Bewilderment gave way to fear as mysterious figures appeared and announced that Jesus was elsewhere. ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.’

The gospel accounts of the Easter Rising are suffused with glimmers of a new dawn. At first, there isn’t anything as concrete as an appearance of Jesus – that must wait till later in the narrative – but the accounts are laden with anticipation: he is not here; he has risen. The women went back to the disciples and relayed what had happened. Naturally, the men were dismissive. To them it seemed an idle tale, a folly.

What folly it must have seemed, staking everything on an impossible hope. In 1916, the principled stand of the Irish revolutionaries turned out to be a tactical disaster. They were outnumbered and outgunned. British forces flooded into Dublin and shelled the Post Office. By the end of the week the rebellion was over. The leaders were captured and executed. British rule was restored.

Despite this collapse, the exuberance of the rebels contained a kernel of the future. The executed were lauded as martyrs, and the Rising became a catalyst for independence. The Irish poet Yeats later wrote of a ‘terrible beauty’ born in those deaths.

What folly it must have seemed, staking everything on an impossible hope. On Good Friday, the principled stand of Jesus against the brokenness of the world was hammered into a wooden cross. He spoke of a Kingdom of harmony but was captured and executed. Roman rule was restored.

And yet… once again… a kernel of the future. Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain.

What does it all mean?

Ten years ago, a million people attended centenary parades in Dublin to recall the events of 1916. Many were remembering a piece of history that led to the Irish Free State. And some will have been reinspired by the vision of a united Ireland.

The legacy of Christ’s Easter Rising has even greater significance. In its earliest use, the Greek verb ‘to rise’ described people waking from sleep, stirred from slumber. But Jesus had not just been asleep: the descriptions of all that was done to him on Good Friday should leave us in no doubt that he had died. However, having risen again he is now truly awake, forever able to continue his mission of reconciling people to one another and to God.

And this links to the deeper meaning of the Greek word ‘to rise’. As well as connotations of waking up, the verb carries a sense of healing and wholeness. Jesus had been a healer in his earlier ministry. Thus he raised the mother-in-law of Peter by the hand. And he told the dead daughter of the leader of the synagogue to arise and be restored to health and happiness. These women were restored only to die in later life, but their risings point to the greater truth that Jesus at Easter conquers the ultimate enemy of death. At Easter life wins, love wins.

So Easter is not just a story for springtime. It is suffused with eternity. That is why the Bible proceeds from narrative to attempt explanation of the relevance of these events.
• This morning we heard St Peter preaching in Acts chapter 10 that God raised Jesus on the third day [v.40] and that therefore he is ordained by God as judge of the living and the dead, such that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins [v.43].
• Just so, writes St Paul to the Corinthians, the Rising of Jesus points to the destiny of believers. Christ, he says, is the first fruits. Where Jesus has gone, we can hope to follow. As in Adam all die; even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
Sisters and brothers, these are messages to hear afresh and to celebrate with joyful hearts.

Have you buried Jesus? May he be reawakened in your life this Easter. And know this encounter to be a year-round, life-transforming reality. And rejoice in the promise that this is a foretaste of eternity. Through the Easter Rising it is the Christian hope to stand triumphant with Jesus in the Free State of God’s Kingdom.

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia.